The Sentinels xxxvi. you've got a warm heart,

AW, ecologist #9

When at last she'd emerged on the northern boundary of the thick Weald, it was not on the sea as she'd come to expect but instead in another wood -- this one singed by flame and left blackened and bare. Lótë wandered amongst the graveyard of dead sentinels where they stood a precarious guard, wondering silently -- and with a heavy heart -- if something had happened here as it happened to Kukutux's Moonspear. There was no sign of such a thing, for it appeared the fire had razed the forest long ago.